


Building Blocks

by cobbleles



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games), The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Daryl Dixon-centric, Everyone Is Gay, Friendship/Love, Hurt/Comfort, Loneliness, M/M, One Shot, POV Daryl Dixon, Post-Death Stranding, Touch-Starved, Zombie Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-07
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:07:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28601169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cobbleles/pseuds/cobbleles
Summary: Daryl Dixon meets Sam Porter Bridges in between Alexandria and Hilltop.
Relationships: Aaron/Daryl Dixon, Sam Porter Bridges/Daryl Dixon
Kudos: 9





	Building Blocks

**Author's Note:**

> Two things: this is post-death stranding but within the walking dead's world, post season 9's time skip. It's more about Daryl than it is about Sam. Anyway, enjoy this very niche crossover lol.

A herd swarms in on the main road in between Alexandria and Hilltop. Daryl doesn’t know nor understand where the Walkers are coming from as Aaron reported a clear path just a few hours before, but they’re here and in mass and they sweep Daryl off his bike. He knows he can’t quite compete with that many so he leaves his bike behind for the time being and jogs into the plains off the side in order to both escape and stray the Walkers away from the colonies. He brings them to the forest’s gate and loses them inside, taking a sharp turn and running away; the herd grows quieter as Daryl increases the meters in between the zombies and himself. He slows down a little to catch his breath; his body’s not quite what it used to be though he’s probably stronger now than he ever was, his articulations would need oil like an old truck, his hair’s thinner, greyer;  _ we’ll match soon enough _ Carol says, Daryl scoffs and rolls his eyes back like it’s not true, like the hair on his chin isn’t already fully grey.  _ Don’t know if I’ll make it there.  _ Carol hits him in the arm.

Daryl must have wandered far because he’s never seen a house out here. It’s more of a cabin, the windows are barricaded, the rooftop hasn’t caved in yet, there’s an X on the door like a target. Daryl looks back; the herd is still far. They might not catch up but it’s probably better to be safe and hide for a while before heading back. He goes up to the door then, listens in--what may be inside might be worse than what is already outside but it’s seemingly abandoned, deserted. Daryl prepares his crossbow in case and opens the door with his free hand; the doorknob rattles and falls in his hand. He pushes it open instead, keeping his crossbow eye level, the stock to his shoulder ready to fire.

The house is indeed empty, inert. Daryl keeps his guard up as he scours each room; behind the shower curtain, under the bed. A photo on top on top of a woman. A cradle by it with clean bedsheets, a sound frame. Children’s books on the desk and toys, food in the cabinets in the kitchen; perishables, energy drinks, cola. Daryl puts down his crossbow on the table and opens a can and wants it all too fast; it floods his chin, dampen his hair and clothes, slides underneath. He moans into the liquid, crushes the can once it’s empty and leaves it like trash on the floor. 

A man appears from the corridor leading to the kitchen. Daryl’s hand flies to his crossbow and back, the man with a head above his head and a head on the back of a baby strapped to his chest. “It’s cool, I don’t want any problem.” he says. His voice is low and raspy, rugged like his hands. 

“This your house?” Daryl asks, leaving the crossbow alone but his hand still on the knife strapped to his waist.

“Yeah--well, I didn’t build it, found it.” he brings his other hand down, cradling the child, “we been here for some time. Hopefully some more.” he nervously laughs. The baby is beating the air with its small fists. Its eyes are open and big, discovering the world everyday for the first time. Daryl takes his hand off his knife. 

“I don’t want any problems either, so. I’ll be off. Leave y’all alone.”

The man politely nods. He heads down the hall to the door, Daryl follows him close after retrieving his crossbow. “Oh yeah sorry ‘bout that.” He points to the doorknob. “It just kind of fell off.”

The man brushes it off. “It always does that, don’t worry. I been waiting for Deadman to send me shit to actually fix it.” 

“Deadman?”

“A friend.”

They’re standing by the door, letting the last bits of light shine in. 

“Odd name.” 

“Maybe. I’m Sam by the way. That’s Louise.”

Daryl extends a hand for Sam to take. “Daryl.” Sam doesn’t shake his hand. 

“You know if you need shelter for the night you can stay.” Sam offers. The light is rapidly disappearing. The trees stand tall, their leaves stand wide. “It’ll be pitch black soon.”

Daryl tends an ear. A distant noise. “Yeah--yeah, alright. Thanks. You never know when they might come back.”

Sam closes the door. “Never I hope.” He pushes a small shelf against it to keep it shut. He walks to the bathroom and leaves the door open, unstraps Louise and lays her down on the carpet. Daryl is waiting by the doorframe. “So where’s that deadman from anyway?” he asks, looking away as Sam starts changing Louise. A strong smell fills the room.

“Lake knot, down east.”

“Past Hilltop?”

“I don’t--I don’t know where that is. It’s huh, past the mountain.” 

Daryl crosses his arms. Sam is washing his hands. 

“Why aren’t you with him back there?”

Sam turns down the tap. He sighs. “I’m not made to live with other people.” Sam comes out of the bathroom with Louise laid on his chest, head above shoulder; her eyes are big, sparkly. Daryl looks at her, thinks of all the time he’s spent alone in the woods with Dog; the sleepless nights, the silence that was never peaceful, the quiet grunts, the nightmares. The loneliness. “Yeah, that’s also what I used to tell myself.” 

Sam doesn’t reply. Daryl follows him into the kitchen. Sam props Louise up on a high chair. Daryl sits on the chair on the opposite end of the table. Sam opens a cabinet and takes out baby food in those small glass bottles and a spoon from the drawer beneath. 

“Wish we had some of that when Judith was a kid. I used to call her lil’ ass kicker. I was right.”

Sam spoon feeds Louise--about half falls on a towel in her lap. “Yours?” Sam asks, his eyes onto the kid. “The girl.”

“No, god, no.” Daryl shakes his head, his hair sticks in place. He laughs, a nervous, scared laugh. He puts a hand ahead like a stop sign. “I couldn’t be a dad, especially not after--all that. Not now you know, not ever. Not for me.”

“Yeah,” Sam laughs back, “used to tell myself that.” He wipes off Louise’s chin and cheeks with the towel, folds it on the counter. “You can take anythin’ you want if you’re hungry, by the way. I got stuff comin’ in this week anyway.”

“Thanks.” Daryl stands up; his legs crack, his knees fall in and out of place as he walks up to Sam, taking an apple from a basket full of; he bites into the brown part, swallows the bruise. “All this” he gestures to the food vaguely, the drinks, “Deadman?”

“Most of, yeah.”

Daryl hums. “He must like you.” He throws the heart in the bin and bites into another apple. “What’s he to you?” he asks with a mouthful. 

“A friend.” Sam says as fact, though his shoulders shrug and his voice breaks like an adolescent boy. He licks his lips dry. 

“Right.”

The more time passes and the more Daryl looks at Sam the more it’s like seeing double, or like a mirror, when Sam takes his hair down after he’s put Louise down in her cradle for the night, and he takes off his jacket, and he’s in this grey tank top and his arms fold over his chest as he’s watching Daryl in the doorframe, his back pressed against it, his arms crossed, a fresh wound on his bicep. Sam steps closer to look at it. He looks up, and they’re standing at the same height and Sam seems distraught for a moment as well. He leaves and comes back with alcohol and bandages, patches Daryl up as best as he can with what he has. Daryl winces when the liquid penetrates his flesh. He’s sitting on Sam’s bed. Sam asks how it happened.

“Dunno. Probably when I fell off my bike.”

“Used to have one of those. Lost it though.”

“I’ll get it back tomorrow.”

The bed is small, twin size though it might not even fit twins inside. Daryl stands to give Sam space. “I’ll just sleep on the carpet” he says, it’s by the bed and a few centimeters thick, “my back’s made of steel at this point.” it isn’t. Sam nods and lies down on the mattress on top of the bedsheets, the air is thick and humid. Daryl lies on his back. There are stars that glow in the dark on the ceiling. He smiles.

“You sure you comfortable?” Sam asks him, looking at him. Daryl nods. “Alright.” Sam shifts on the mattress. “You mind?” Daryl looks at him. He’s unzipping his pants. 

“Go ahead.” Daryl’s mouth is pasty and white. Sam’s shadow grows on the wall as he undresses, the candle lit on the dresser proclaiming his body and clothes as one being. He takes off his pants first, his torso standing up, his back hunched over, his legs spread, his pants momentarily stuck at his ankles. He takes off his socks; his toes are missing nails; blue is missing red. Daryl is watching him. He blames it on fascination, he blames it on identity. Sam’s upper body is covered in marks in the form of hands unlike lines like Daryl’s back, no X’s. Daryl doesn’t comment on them. He slips a hand under the collar of his shirt, circling the bumps on his skin. God knows he wouldn’t want anyone to comment on those. 

“Why you headed there? The hilltops.” 

Sam is quiet. He’s lying on his side, in Daryl’s direction. Daryl’s lying on his side, in Sam’s direction. Sam’s body is rectangular in shape. Broad shoulders, a stomach that isn’t quite cut nor elevated. His skin looks strangely soft, though it might just be the dim lighting, or Daryl’s unused hands. “Just seein’ if they need any help.” Daryl answers. The candle highlights the blond fuzz all over Sam, darkens the hair on his legs, slipping underneath his white briefs--you can almost see it. A form. “I ain’t stayin’. Just passin’ by before headin’ to the Kingdom. You probably ain’t heard of it, if I had to guess.”

“And what’s in that kingdom?”

Daryl doesn’t have to think long. “Carol. But you don’t know her.” Sam is on the very edge of the mattress, an elbow exceeds it. 

“Who’s she?”

“A friend--I mean that. I thought… I don’t know. She was married to this awful fuckin’ guy but he died and-and her daughter went missin’ and we were all alone, you know, and she-she needed a friend, so I don’t know, I became that for her.” Sam’s breathing is steady. His eyes are small but open. Carol, her hair is down to her breasts now, her eyes are still sad. “My brother--he died, hum, he was pretty shitty; homophobic; racist; you name it, but he was my brother you know, and we always been together--I never had anyone else that-that really care for me until Carol. Made me realize that maybe I needed a friend too.” Daryl’s heart is beating fast. He doesn’t speak much, doesn’t open much. “I don’t say it enough but I don’t know what I’d do without her, and-and lil’ ass kicker, Michonne--her mom, Jesus at Hilltop.” Sam’s right arm has fallen over the edge. The tip of his fingers are red, his hand’s almost touching the floor but not quite. Daryl’s hand almost touches Sam’s. His fingernails are long, some broken, all with dirt under them. Yellow. “Aaron.” His short brown hair, Eric’s name still on his tongue when Daryl kissed him that one time, drunk, and that other time sober, and that other time sad. If only Daryl knew how to ask. If he lifted a finger. 

Daryl leaves in the morning. Sam gives him some left-overs, water, soap, a bottle of shampoo.  _ You need it _ , he says. Daryl groans.  _ You smell like death. _

The tree leaves whisper a melody, the plains are silent, the road is clear. Aaron is jogging towards Daryl’s bike, lifting it back up when he arrives. Daryl waves from afar, jogs to catch up to him.

“What happened?” 

Daryl is out of breath, out of shape. He’s got a hand on a knee. “There was a herd,” he says, “swamped through, knocked me over. I ran and hid.”

“A herd?”

“Yeah.”

“Weird. I haven’t seen anything in weeks.”

Aaron is looking over Daryl and around them, afar, a hand on his forehead like a hat covering the sun. 

“Well I drove ‘em off. Haven’t seen any comin’ back here.”

“I’ll tell Jesus and get a group going to check it out.” Aaron bites down his lip. He tilts his head and takes a step towards Daryl, checking out his bandage. “Are you ok?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed, his forehead a wrinkled shirt. 

“S’nothin’.” 

Aaron shakes his head. He folds his lips, teeth gritted underneath. His beard is long these days, dirty. “Will you let Siddiq take a look at it at least, when you get to Hilltop? Please.”

Daryl grunts. “Sure.” He climbs onto the motorcycle, raises the bandana around his neck over his face. He glances at Aaron. “You comin’?”

Aaron’s got his tongue in his cheek. “I could use a ride I guess.”

The engine is loud. Aaron’s got a firm grip on Daryl’s shirt, the cold metal of his new forearm touches the inner part of Daryl’s elbow and he’s got his chest hugging his back, his breath on his neck, his nose in his hair--Daryl thinks he should’ve used Sam’s gift earlier but Aaron doesn’t complain. Daryl is distracted. Aaron’s heart beats in his hands upon Daryl’s chest. Steady, fast. “CAN YOU STOP A MINUTE?” Aaron yells over the motor. “NEED TO TAKE A LEAK.”

Daryl pulls them off the road. Aaron steps away and so does Daryl to stretch his legs. He’s walking around the vehicule, trying to take his eyes off Aaron but never actually doing so. Aaron’s got his back turned. The only sight to see is a puddle forming at his shoes, the only sound to hear the piss hitting the ground, the soles of Daryl’s shoes, the unzipping and zipping of Aaron’s jeans, the elastic waistband of his boxer briefs. He turns back around. Daryl raises his arms over his head to show Aaron he was indeed stretching. Aaron tucks in his shirt, an olive green color, darker around the neck and armpits. The sun is shining bright and it is hot outside; summer, maybe July.

They step back onto the motorcycle. “You afraid or somethin’?” Daryl teases, “you holdin’ on real tight.” His foot’s on the pedal ready to leave. Aaron is waiting. 

“I’m not.” He answers, whispers. He slips both hands underneath Daryl’s shirt and holds his hands together on Daryl’s skin; wet, warm. Daryl doesn’t say anything. Aaron rests his head on his shoulder. Daryl gulps down his saliva like it’s water.

Hilltop welcomes them like they’re finally home. Maggie’s still gone. Jesus’s hair is tied up in a bun. He greets Aaron first then Daryl. Daryl lets Siddiq properly close the wound on his bicep, another one to add to the collection. He gives Daryl this stern look of When Will You Learn. Daryl thanks him for the stitches and apologizes for his never-ending recklessness. Jesus offers him a room for the night in the house which Daryl accepts for once. Aaron is sleeping in a room beside it. 

A knock on the door disturbs Daryl in the middle of the night, his name soft-spoken behind the wood, the metal of a hand against the metal of the doorknob. “Did I wake you?”

“mm-mm.”

Daryl makes space for Aaron in the bed, lets himself touch and be touched.

“D’you leave Gracie in Alexandria?” 

“Mm-hmm yeah. Michonne’s taking care of her. She gets along with Judith well.” Aaron’s feet are intertwined with his own, his arms around him, his hands in his hair. The shadow on the wall is incapable of distincting where one body stops and the other begins. “You should talk to her when you’re back. I think she’ll like you.”

“I’ll try.”

The cabin is empty when Daryl goes back a week later on his way to Alexandria. The doorknob is still broken. There’s a paler spot on the wall in the bedroom where the photograph of the woman was, scratches on the floor. 

A bag full of food on the table. A note that says Daryl, misspelled. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hello thank you for reading if you did read. I love Daryl he is very soft. You can follow me on twitter [ @aeo0ng ](https://twitter.com/aeo0ng/) if you want. Also happy birthday Worm if you stumble upon this somehow (I hope not) you are very cool. Stay safe everyone. [Michael Fassbender voice] I love you all


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